Ftaghn
by Besina
Summary: Molly's due for a holiday - she chooses the most remote and out-of-the-way place possible, hoping not to have to interact with humanity. She doesn't, but she does end up talking with something else... Molly always *could* pick 'em!
1. The Terror of the Deep

Written by Besina

February 11, 2014

A/N: This is what happens when you focus on too much dark!fic, and your brain breaks. Crack occurs, and your mind pulls you from a deep sleep in order to write it all down and inflict it upon others. Hope you like it!

* * *

Leagues beneath the sea, Cthulhu could sense someone nearby - almost no one dared traverse these lands - they were barren, remote, forgotten, dangerous. Rocky outcroppings dotted the land, and there was no soil fit for planting. The weather was terrible, the landscape bleak, the temperature chilly, skies universally grey. No one wanted to live anywhere near it. Fish and game avoided the area, and if there'd been any resources to exploit, the companies sent to look for them left almost before they'd arrived - an ominous feeling of oppression bearing down on them.

The very remoteness is what drew Molly to it for her holiday. She liked people, but she didn't really want to deal with them. And strangers made her nervous. The weather, the cold, the bleakness didn't bother her in the least. She worked in a morgue, performed post-mortems; there was a lot that didn't bother Molly which would have gotten to most other people.

The seas roiled as Cthulhu rose: someone stood on the sacrificial mount - a rocky prominence that had once jutted out from the sea, before the waters had receded, leaving it near the ocean's edge - a challenging, but rewarding climb for those such as Molly (though Molly had been the only one to brave it thus far).

Great numbers of men and women - offerings - had once been chained there, in silent hopes that Cthulhu would claim them and leave the ancient villages of long-ago in peace, returning to his slumbers beneath the waves.

He rose up, water running off of his fearsome form in rivers; towering, mountainous, before her.

"Cower in fear, Mortal," boomed the Voice of the Deep, echoing and rebounding off of cliffs, hills and rocky formations for miles.

Molly winced, "Ow!" she said, "Keep it down! I'm sure there are nesting birds, probably the rare, last-of-their-kind sort around here somewhere! It's dreary enough for that. Don't you go about shouting and scaring them off!"

_He was vaguely confused, as normally people were on their knees, sobbing and tearing their hair out by the handful by now._

"Feel your sanity slip from you as you gaze upon the Horror of the Depths, Dread Cthulhu, who has come to devour your mind and tear at your soul! Tremble! Insignificant speck!" _(He_ _did_ _keep his terrible voice down a bit this time, nesting birds and all... Wait. What?)_

He leaned closer so that his head tentacles could twist and writhe: a curtain around her. One came particularly close, making crude, suggestive, thrusty motions toward her. Most people _felt_ raped, just looking at them. She captured it in two hands, looking at it. "You're huge!" she whispered.

Cthulhu felt a flush working its way up his body; he puffed his chest in pride, vaguely pleased that a blush was terribly difficult to discern when your skin was a greenish-black. "Thank you, yes," he started, wondering immediately why he felt like a schoolboy with a crush.

"No, not these," she dismissed, "I mean you in general - you're absolutely gargantuan. Don't you ever get any smaller?"

He was sure it should have been some sort of compliment, he'd always been proud of how he dwarfed humans, towered over their landscape like some mountainous, leathery-winged, tentacled monstrosity, but somehow, coming from her innocent lips, it felt the word somehow... equated to... _fat_.

He fumbled to suck in his gut a little, feeling self-conscious.

"You've got a gash."

_"I've got a __**WHAT?!" **_he roared, indignant again, the slang translation planting itself in his brain.

She patted the obscene tentacle writhing in her grasp, "Just here, up a little," she stood on tiptoe, pointing, "you've got a rather large cut," she observed. "Would you like me to fix it for you? I _am_ a doctor, you know," she said proudly, "70, 80 stitches should fix that up pronto."

The Great Cthulhu blinked. _What was going on here? Why was she not screaming, already out of her head in overwhelming fear and horror? This wasn't right..._

"Why are you not cowering before me? Why does your mind not tear itself to pieces from one look at my horrible visage?"

Molly shrugged, "I've got brothers," she said, explaining exactly nothing.

* * *

_Greatly_ diminished in size, the Dread Lord Cthulhu had managed to squeeze himself through the doorway to her tiny flat.

Giggles and laughter now floated out from the bedroom.

This was the first time he'd had a willing victim, no..., sacrifice! no... _partner_ in, well... _Ever_. The whole thought was somewhat depressing... Much less one who _liked_ his tentacles, played with them, and suggested combinations that, when granted, left her squealing in delight.

There was a knock at the door.

"Bugger," grumbled Molly, getting out of bed and fumbling for her robe.

"What?" asked the Dread Lord.

"There's only ever one person who bothers to come over, and it figures his timing would be terrible."

She rose to go to the door, Cthulhu rising and stuffing his massive bulk through the bedroom door, just into the kitchen to see who had arrived. Just _why_ he should feel nervous of anyone impinging on his claim, he didn't know. Things were just _weird_, lately.

Molly swung the door wide, and looking exasperated, allowed the consulting detective to stride in. He did, stopping mid-step and gazing at the monstrosity hovering near the refridgerator, eyes flicking up and down its bulk appraisingly, before dismissing it out of hand.

John, on the other hand, stood motionless, eyes wide, mouth agape at the spectacle before him.

_Well __that__ was better at least,_ thought the creature, _at least __someone__ was acting a bit like they were supposed to. Maybe there would be gibbering soon..._

Sherlock got a look at John's shocked face, and waved it off. "Nevermind _him_, John, he's just an Elder... _thingy_... or something."

"Elder _God_," murmured Cthulhu quietly, a little hurt by the lack of reaction.

"We've come about something much more important. Molly, we need you at the lab."

* * *

(Yeah, that's where it ends - hope you liked it! Not sure what's up with me and confused, slightly adorable, evil, tentacley things)

* * *

Comments would be lovely!

As always, favourite lines, scenes etc., are appreciated.

Translation permissions are located at the bottom of my AO3 profile.

On-the-fly Brit-picking is welcome as well.

You can also now follow me on at Besinaao3 on Tumblr, if you're so inclined! :)


	2. Awkwardness in the Face of Madness

**Notes:** Yes, yes... the tentacled Elder Plot Bunny hopped in with another instalment. Just a short, but it demanded to be written. Doesn't take place directly after the first chapter, but shortly thereafter.

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Molly stood in a flowing diaphanous gown, tied and chained to a pole, screaming her lungs out, as the horrible tentacled beast approached; which is why she didn't hear the door burst open.

Cthulhu on the other hand, was facing said door, and simply dropped his head into his clawed hand and muttered _"Oh, Yogsothoth..."_

"What?" inquired Molly, looking concerned, "What is it? Did I do it wrong?"

"No..." came the put-upon reply as John rushed to her side, gun drawn, pointing at the creature, while with the other hand he attempted to free her.

"Are you all right, Molly? Did he hurt you? DON'T YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!" he snapped toward the leathery-winged mass, "You may be an Elder... Elder _thing..."_

_"God,"_ Cthulhu muttered under his breath.

"But I can still take you out if I need to, just you watch!"

...

"John? John, _stop. _It's okay, really," Molly soothed, pleased by his concern but slightly put off by his timing. "'Thulu and I were just... playing." John released her from her last binding and she stepped free of her post.

"Really, it's okay. He's just gotten a bit... nostalgic, and all. Kind of wanted to re-live his glory days a little, when sacrifices were plentiful and everyone was terrified of him. It's been quite an adjustment, you know. And," she blushed, "I'm not opposed to spicing things up in the bedroom every so often. No one was actually supposed to be around. They're fixing a gas main later today, and the street's supposed to have been evacuated. We thought... well... we thought... y'know, now's as good a time as any?"

"She is _my _sacrifice, my _due,_ as an Elder God, to take and despoil as I please!" boomed Cthulhu, forgetting for the moment his minimized stature.

John simply raised an eyebrow at the ridiculous posturing, gun still trained on him.

"And you, Molly?" he asked, "Do you _wish_ to be 'despoiled'?" feeling kind of foolish now for having barged in, _but she was screaming, after all. And no one at work had seen her, and Sherlock needed her at the morgue and... _none of it helped him feel any less awkward now that he knew what had been going on.

"Um, well, _yes, _that is, if you don't mind," she said politely.

"He's even offered me the position of high-priestess," she continued, "seeing as the last of them disappeared around 1928."

"High Priestess? For him? Are you mad?" he asked, confused and flabbergasted at the same time.

"Well, I've been considering it, so long as he agrees not to consume my soul - they have killer outfits after all, and it might be a step up from the morgue," she mused.

"O-kay, then, well... I'll just be going then, shall I?" he asked. John turned on his heel and fled as quickly as possible.

* * *

Comments, as always, are lovely.

And this should, _should,_ be the last of it. But who knows? My tentacled Elder Bunny may have more of these eggs in his basket, so if you like it, just to be on the safe side, you may want to follow the story, as who knows if another chapter may bubble up from the depths...


End file.
